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"Out of magic mojo?! A preposterous proposition!" declares the commoner, as a crop of white whiskers suddenly reappears along half of his chin. "Has it been an hour since my last casting already?" He waves his wand and releases another bolt of force as hairs of silver and white begin repopulating his scalp.
Hayden frowns as he sees his arrow mostly burn up and then as the elemental begins...'laughing'? "Uh, good work. Now how do we kill it?" He fires another arrow at the creature. "How do you properly do anything?" replies the old man. "Why, with magic, of course!" With a wave of the not-so-commoner's wand, a bolt of force appears and strikes the elemental.
However, as his magic did not kill it, the man takes a few steps back, putting more distance between himself and fiery death.
The commoner puts some distance between himself and the fire elemental, then draws forth a wand of magic missiles. "It is a fire elemental and a rather large one at that." calls out the man. "I suggest you don't let it burn you."
"A fiery ape?! From no where?!" cries the not-so-commoner. "What manner of devilry is this?"
"What kind of respectful wizard would create a construct that doesn't respond to magical damage?!" mutters the old man as he follows the others across the bridge. "It all seems rather irresponsible to me, Golth--" The man catches himself, quickly adding, "Were only could it be the case that all wizards were as wise as I am."
"Confounded stick!" cries the old man. "The construct is resistant to spells and most forms of metal. Adamantine should suffice. In the meantime, I suggest you not let it hit you!" he warns the others.
Then man
After considering the layout of the architecture, the clean-shaven man casts detect magic.
"He seems to be physically fine but you might be right Angela ... the side effects of digesting food from this area are unknown! And Hayden is right ... there are many options." "Well, then, we should pursue such options most quickly!" declares most-definitely Golthwur. "I do not know if I can endure another day of this wretched common food--if it can even be called such!" With a sleeve of his robe, he wipes away the ample crumbs that dot his clean-shaven chin. "Now, if you will excuse me," he says heading behind a large patch of high foliage. "I have a spell that I need to go cast."
"But, I am actually Golthwur--" the man begins to protest, before saying, "Oh, I see, we shall maintain the ruse just in case anyone is listening." The old man sighs and admits, "Alas, I have no food with me. Maybe it id for the best. For while those so-called 'rations' may be suitable for mundane beings, such as yourselves, they are rather disagreeable to those with a sophisticated palate, such as mine."
"Wow, new friends. Come on, sir." Dawn offers to take Golgolgoldenheim's hand and carefully lead him. "Remember, we totally like Razmir, and we think he's really cool." The old man leans towards the elf's pointed ear and slowly whispers, "Pssst, do not be alarmed. I am no 'new friend'. But, instead, is is in fact actually I, Golthwur Strath, that you now see before you." The wizard moves with the confidence of one who believes he has successfully pulled off such a disguise in the past.
"A moment please," he demands as he disappears behind a nearby wall and casts prestigidation. Then, emerging from behind the wall is a wiry, old man--but with one with no hat and no beard. "Greetings, I am a Razmiran of great reknown," declares the man, adorned in wizardly robes. Eventually Drusan will lead you to his cave. The clean-shaven man follows the others to the cave, stopping once every hour to duck behind a wall or some other form of cover, before emerging to reveal his face once again.
First, watch the man man the watch first.
The old man peers at the bounty hunters, trying to determine whether he has convinced them to head leave for Padiskar in haste or whether they will be remaining with the party and, thus, be a possible hindrance in his plan to get the false artifact to Zamir.
"Yes. Yes, indeed, I can certainly see that it would be most wise for us to stay 'out of your way'." responds the old man. "It is true what they say, 'Too many alchemists spoil the potion.' We will undoubtedly be taking our leave of you as soon as possible...so that we do not further hinder you going about your duties of course." The one who referred to himself as Golgolgoldenheim Somundane goes to place a pointed hat upon his head, only to realize that he doesn't currently have one handy. He utters an inaudible curse, wondering how much longer it will be until the hour passes. "As for the stew-maker,' the man continues, "I suppose that my travelling companions may have some redeeming qualities. Still, while I myself have not yet sampled his wares, I doubt that they surpass the flavors that can be produced by a well-timed casting of prestidigitation." The bald man wiggles his fingers in a mock gesture mimicking a spell. “Admittedly, just between you and me” the elderly man says leaning in closer to Jogen and speaking in a loud whisper, ”Our common band of little more than bladebearers, fistswingers, and shieldslingers is hardly as capable a lot as you. I mean, you saw how our “flighty air-ess” bandied about our choice merchandise for all to see.” The man closes his eyes, lowers his head, and shakes it. After releasing an audible sigh, he continues, ”I, and I alone, am the only one of us capable of ensuring that our cargo ends up in the hands of its intended recipients. Yet, it appears day after day that my job is hindered by the useless weight of these additional millstones that our employer has saddled me with.” The “not-a-mage” points to the nearby Pathfinders. ”Why, indeed, it was rumors that that monster and thief, Zamir, was operating less than a day’s journey out of that ‘rotting heap of fish bones and farm refuse’ that they call ‘Padiskar’ that prompted me to push our wagon of goods this far afield of that gods-forsaken town. If you wish to catch Zamir, I suggest that you quickly head in that direct and do so post-haste before the monster makes his lair anew where the victims are more plentiful and the potential for his profits still greater.”
"Why, I wouldn't be surprised if such a group of men were on the trail of Zamir even as we speak! Such, capable men likely would search tirelessly, stopping for nothing save a few moments rest and perhaps a bowl of stew." says the old man. Could we have men in such pursuit among us? Could these not be the ambushers of Zamir, but instead men sent to capture the beast? The man absent-mindedly strokes his non-present beard. That would explain why the blustering bluster of the wind-woman's words has yet to lead to any ambush.
The four men look on as the bloodrager looses her cool. They look to the scepter she presents and waves around. Jogen raies an eyebrow in confusion and then he takes a big spoon full of the stew and gulps it down with satisfaction. "That's a waste." he says looking to smashed bowl and the stew contents. He goes back to eating again while the other three men start to eat as well. The clean-shaven, elderly man puts down his bowl of soup, having apparently lost his appetite following the earlier discussion. The dinner does by without any actions Jogen mentions a few different transactions he has had in the past then he asks "Do any of you know Zamir by chance? We are looking to do some..." Jogen thinks for a moment and then continues "...Business. The four of us need to meet with him face to face." With the mention of Zamir, the old man's ears perk up. "I have heard of this Zamir of whom you speak. There are rumors that he may be a weretiger or some manner of native
"Oh, no! I wouldn't fault my mother. My father, however, there was no pleasing him. Why, he wouldn't ever say he was proud of me even if I were to have become say... *ahem*...a great Wizard of Wonders or a Mage of Myth.". The old man suddenly turns quiet. His face seems to drain as he stares deeply into his freshly poured bowl of stew.
A balding, elderly, and clean-shaved man, wearing oddly colored robes approaches the campfire, carrying a backpack nearly too heavy for him to lift. "Greetings, Common folk!" he says. "My name is Gol...Gol..Gol..." the man seems to stutter for a moment, then quickly says, "...den... heim. Yes, that is it. Golgolgoldenheim, "Yes! My name is Golgolgoldenheim Somundane!" the man repeats. "Mind if I, a completely common and ordinary merchant, join you for some stew?" Perception DC 0:
Surprise! Golgolgoldenheim Somundane is actually Golthwur Strath! However, the other bounty hunters still don't recognize him!
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